


Poised Mess

by pearlyquill (TheQuiescentQuill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7952368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQuiescentQuill/pseuds/pearlyquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The name, “Pansy” meant thought and she supposed that she had done an awful lot of thinking recently. She is not pretty, she is not nice, she is not even desirable to most. Though she entertained the idea that being anything but herself would be a disgrace and likely make her boring. </p>
<p>--<br/>A brief One-Shot detailing some Pansy/Blaise Fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poised Mess

 

She studied her reflection in the mirror, her eyes were tired and sore, she had not slept in years. Well, she supposed it would be illogical for her not to have slept at all in four years but she certainly felt that may have been the case. Her arms were stiff but they still reached for the muggle make up that was scattered across her dressing table. Concealer was a great tool, she wiped it beneath her eyes to hide the bags that bloomed there. Her foundation concealed freckles that would have been lost otherwise. The dark lipstick made her look a little vampy. Perhaps she looked sexy. Though uncertainty still filled her stomach.  
  
        The name, “Pansy” meant thought and she supposed that she had done an awful lot of thinking recently. She is not pretty, she is not nice, she is not even desirable to most. Though she entertained the idea that being anything but herself would be a disgrace and likely make her boring.   
         
       She is instead a terror, an exploding star, a crashing comet, she is a poised mess. She is the snake that sits on the flower rather beneath it. Not veiled in petals but who bared herself (and consequently, was eaten by an eagle). Though these were romantic notions, she tells herself, in reality she valued self-preservation and one life compared to that of hundreds made sense when she was eighteen and scared. These are things she must tell herself with great conviction every day otherwise she fears she might just fall apart when she steps outside. They forget that she was a misled child too but dragons are much more interesting than flowers. Her mouth tasted bitter.  
  
       Oh how she hated functions, she wondered if she had always hated them this way (She doesn’t think she did). Reunions had become her worst nightmare and at twenty-two she didn’t need any more of them. What she needed was a quiet life, away from the public but she somehow felt it her duty to try and clear her name.  
  
       _“It is unlikely they will believe you.”_ Her mind told her. She agreed with its sentiment. She wondered if her feelings of fear and inferiority would ever leave her, riddled with personal anxieties and an irrational fear of seeing people that she may have once known lead her to believe that it would not. She was not the Pansy Parkinson who had tried to give Harry Potter to Voldemort. No longer the child soldier she was the adult reflecting with fear and regret. Seeking forgiveness but whom was scared of rejection. She wanted to vomit.  
  
       There was a gentle knock on the door frame and her eyes lifted up, Blaise stood there waiting on her. He was well dressed and smart looking, as per usual. Her stomach flipped a little when she seen him.  
  
       “You look pale.”  
  
       “I feel ill.”  
  
       “So do I.”  
  
       “Must we go?”  
  
       “We were invited so I feel like we should.” Pansy let out a slow breath and stood, smoothing down her hair and reaching for her bag and then she walked towards him. His arm slid around her waist and he was patient as she searched through her bag to ensure she had everything.  
  
       “You look beautiful.” He said, softly.  
  
       “I feel like a mess.”  
  
       “This is nothing you can’t handle.”  
  
       “What do I even say? I’m sorry I tried to hand you over to the Dark Lord, Mr. Potter, I was a naïve eighteen-year-old who wanted very desperately not to lose her entire family, livelihood and friends?”  
  
       “That sounds reasonable.” She smacked him on the shoulder. “Just remember, I love you. You can do this.” His hand went to gently cup her arse. She smacked him on the shoulder again.  
  
       “Was that meant to comfort me?”  
  
        “Yes. Did it?”  
  
       “No.”  
     
       “I love you.”  
  
       “I love you too.”


End file.
